Apparently, I’m lucky to blog once a month, getting this one in just under the wire. And I’m only writing because I’ve been reading about blogs lately, like old-school blogs. Blogs you read if you were in your 20s in 2008. Blogs that connected you to others or inspired you or created friendships.

I’m someone who used diary-x and LiveJournal. I met two of my best friends through LiveJournal, and we’re still close to this day, so I’m no stranger to connecting online. Blogs did that. And I miss that. But I also understand the need to be professional, especially here, in my writing space. But if it’s my writing space…

And off I spiral.

I look at my life and can’t believe I’ve been making a living as a writer for over a year now. If you told my eight-year-old self that this was possible, I think she would have been thrilled, but skeptical. Yet here I am, still thrilled, still skeptical.

But that’s not what it’s about tonight. I’m thankful for those jobs, grateful for what they’ve given me. But tonight is about creative writing. It’s about cracking my shell and inspecting my process as it happens.

Getting an idea. Writing. Revising. Reading aloud. Revising more.

I won’t submit this piece until later, so I’m sure more revision is to come. If you told my twenty-year-old self that this was possible, she would have smirked in your face. (She hated revision.)

But I feel like I’m twenty again. I’m grateful that I don’t have a full day of college courses and work waiting for me tomorrow, but there’s something invigorating about staying up late (shhh – to a single parent, 9:45p is indeed late) and writing and focusing on creativity and forgetting about the endless To Do lists and have I cleaned but did I call and how will I manage drop off and pick up along with…

Not tonight.

I feel lucky to write and get paid for it. I feel lucky to write because ideas won’t leave me alone. I feel lucky to submit and get rejections and try again. I feel lucky to be part of creative writing workshop groups that let me read and critique great stories and give me necessary feedback on my own work. I feel lucky to read and edit other people’s writing, to send them acceptances and take part in their excitement in some small way. I feel lucky to work with an amazing press and support their fantastic team and writers and readers. I feel lucky to be so connected to the literary world while still knowing there’s so much left to explore.

All my life, I’ve wanted built-in bookshelves. It’s something I’ve dreamed of since seeing Beauty and the Beast. Except I don’t need the rolling ladder, because I’m already tall enough.

My dad is a talented carpenter. You can point to anything in my parents’ house and many things in my house asking, “Where did you get that?” and the answer is, “My dad made it.”

As I transitioned to a life working from home, I commissioned him to make a standing desk. He not only made a standing desk, but he made it so the top level was removable. I can sit or stand and work at my laptop or write by hand. I couldn’t have imagined something so good, but he threw it together with scrap wood, promising to make something better whenever I needed.

He built bookshelves for two rooms of his own house and I’ve admired them frequently. But I’ve previously lived a somewhat transient lifestyle. I moved apartments every year, moved away for grad school, then traveled for months at a time while keeping my things in a storage unit. My furniture is hand-me-downs. To date, I’ve only bought two tables, a bed (all 3 I still have), and one couch (RIP). Even though I’ve lived in my own home for years, built-in bookshelves seemed like a commitment I wasn’t ready to make.

But the pandemic changed everything. It helped me see what I valued in my life. I made a major career change. I focused on myself and my writing. And I knew that I was finally ready to commit to built-in bookshelves.

Cue wood being impossible to find and insanely expensive if you were lucky enough to spot it. (I could write an essay about me being ready to commit when it wasn’t possible, but I won’t. You’re welcome.)

However, my dad is amazing, and he kept looking. Finally, he found some wood and starting building my bookshelves. I helped as much as I could, which was mostly holding things in place, staining the wood, and aligning the shelf mounts to hold as many books as possible.

All of this to say… look at my bookshelves! And THANK YOU, DAD!

BEFORE:

WITHOUT:

DURING:

FINISHED:

WITH WORK LIGHTS INSTALLED:

I recently lost 15 years of data due to a corrupt external hard drive.

• Three and a half degrees’ worth of research and projects. Graphic design. English. Creative Writing. Library Science.

• Fifteen years of photography portfolios and outtakes. Art. Band photos. Portraits. Personal images.

• Notes, journals, and photographs of my travels up and down the West coast, visiting countless National Parks, going abroad to England.

• Four years of photographs of my kid.

Most of my writing I moved from computer to computer and kept on smaller USB drives since the files didn’t take up much space. But the photos I backed up every month, determined to not lose an image. I didn’t want my computer to crash and leave me stranded.

On the plus side, my computer didn’t crash. My 12-year-old iMac is still alive and trucking. I got a new PC just because I couldn’t be without one, due to the nature of my work. So when I found that my drive didn’t work, I tested it on four different computers, tried two different types of software, took it to the professionals.

Nothing. All gone.

I try to feel upset about it but I can’t, really. How often did I look through those files? Not often. I plugged it in a few months ago to find a certain image and some notes, but that was it.

I made prints of most of my kid’s baby pictures, so it’s not like they’re lost. I re-downloaded the digital images from Shutterfly so I still have those. Some of my travel photos are up on Flickr; not even a fraction of all of them, but at least there’s proof.

And isn’t that all these files are? Proof that I went somewhere, saw something, did the work and earned the degree? It’s not that different than losing things in a house fire, except it’s by far the better option. A ruined hard drive compared to a ruined home. Thankfully my shelter is intact, and that’s what I focus on. The things that I lost… I can just recreate them from here. Take new photos, revitalize my portfolio, revisit the National Parks so my kid can appreciate them, too. Make new memories and stop living in the past.

It’s time to move on. Start fresh.

Today I’m thinking of the time a male classmate walked out of workshop with me. He said, “I find that when women write stories like yours, they’re usually true.”

I’m thinking of the editor that rejected my story. He said it seemed like I didn’t understand depression, so I shouldn’t write about it.

I’m thinking of the blurred lines between truth and lie. Why call writing fiction if you think it’s about me anyway?

I’m thinking, how much do we know about an author, just because they’re giving us a glimpse inside their mind?

I’m thinking, why differentiate something as fiction vs. nonfiction if you think you know better, anyway.

I did it. I dedicated three weeks to creative writing.

Of course I still did paid work. I also did housework, parenting, mowing, and managed a few unexpected things that were fairly stressful in their own right. But I did it all. And I produced over 18,000 words of new material.

I started with Jami Attenberg’s #1000wordsofsummer, writing 1,000 words a day for 14 days. I initially thought I would write creative nonfiction essays about my childhood. I had a list a page long of memories and topics. I wrote one. On the second day I hit a stride with a topic that I subdivided into three days’ worth of material. On the fifth day, I remembered that I needed to write flash pieces for a chapbook I’m compiling with a friend. There were nine pieces, so I spent the next nine days writing those. The last day was mostly a free-for-all, but I did it. Over 1,000 words every day.

Then I went right into Nancy Stohlman’s Going Short: Beautiful Flash Fiction workshop. She gave us readings and prompts for five days. Participants wrote flash exercises, up to 800 words, for each day. I pushed myself like I haven’t in so long. Knowing people would be reading and commenting on my writing lit a fire that I haven’t felt since grad school.

I didn’t realize how much I missed the workshop environment. Thankfully a few people from that course seem interested in keeping it going, either as accountability partners or an informal workshop. I’m eager to nurture those relationships, because the quality of writing and feedback in that course was amazing. I can’t remember the last time I felt this inspired.

I’m encouraged to take more courses for my writing. I’ve let that side of me go since college and grad school. I started thinking it wasn’t worth pursuing, but what I got out of this class was worth every penny. I’m hoping to take a more intensive workshop this fall, and hopefully continue taking workshops every “semester” or so. I think it’s worth the investment and I really enjoyed doing this.

Now… should I submit the work I created this week?

I’ve been freelancing and ghostwriting for ten months now. This is what I’ve wanted to do since I was a kid, even if I didn’t know the specifics of how it’d work. I had a vision of me sitting at a desk, writing, and supporting myself that way. I didn’t know what I’d be writing or who for, but it’s come to fruition and I couldn’t be happier.

I spend my days researching interesting topics, many I’ve never given much thought to, so I can write about them. This satisfies my need to learn. I don’t get bored because every day is something different. I’m someone who regularly goes down research and Wikipedia rabbit holes, so doing it for a purpose (and getting paid) hits the spot.

I balance daily work with bigger projects lasting two weeks or longer. I get to really immerse myself in this research and work closely with clients without focusing on the quick turnaround. Basically, I’m getting the best of both worlds.

My creative writing, however, has been pushed to the back burner. I’m writing at least 5,000 words a day for work, so when I stop, I usually just veg out with a book or random thoughts. I make notes about story ideas and things I’d like to write eventually, when I find time.

That time is now. I’ve decided to kick off summer by prioritizing my personal writing. It starts next week with #1000wordsofsummer with Jami Attenberg. It runs for two weeks and a Slack channel is set up for accountability and inspiration.

After that, I’ll take a week-long course with Nancy Stohlman. Her book was one of the first I read with my recent return to writing, specifically flash fiction. I’ve been writing at Lightning Flash every weekday (6 days a week in April) for four months now. I’ve even submitted to five places in the past two months. Not an astonishing feat, but I haven’t submitted since 2011, so it’s definitely something.

I look forward to prioritizing creative writing for the month of June, and then hopefully being able to find a balance between paid work and creative work for the rest of the year. I have some goals I’d like to meet, and marking goals off of my list has always been a great motivator for me.

For as much as I felt “Zoomed out” last Spring, I’ve been loving how connected I’ve felt to the literary community lately. This past week’s SMOL Fair was no exception. SMOL Fair is an online book fair for small presses, created because most indie publishers felt AWP was charging too much for a virtual fair. SMOL Fair was completely free for vendors and participants, publishers had killer deals, and there were tons of giveaways going on.

It felt great to discover small presses I wasn’t familiar with and blow my budget to support them and their authors. I have about fifteen books coming my way, and I’m excited for the bookmail and the chance to read new authors and experimental forms.

There were also dozens of readings being hosted last week and over the weekend, which gave me even more of a chance to find new authors and connect with them. Even though the event was entirely online (specifically Zoom and Twitter), I was able to network with other presses, authors, and even a few librarians who want to help bridge the gap between indie publishers and library systems.

I have to admit, it made me miss my previous ALA Conference experiences; there’s nothing like going from booth to booth and making connections and picking up new books. The antisocial side of me loved that I was able to remain in the comfort of my own home and sign on and off as I pleased. I also can’t deny how nice it was to not have to pay for travel, lodging, and conference admission. Definitely a mixed bag of excitement and nostalgia, but overall the fair was an amazing success and I’m excited to see how it develops in the years to come since it was so accessible.

Is it a cliffhanger if you kind of forget you left it hanging?

Why not.

Ironically, I forgot about sharing my personal writing news because I was busy with professional writing deadlines. But the fact that I couldn’t finish a follow-up post makes all of the other pieces fall into place…

I’ve been writing flash fiction. I’ve always enjoyed having constraints on my writing: timed sessions, word count limits, etc. I’ve enjoyed using those constraints when I taught writing workshops, because students would feel pressured, then be amazed at what they were actually capable.

I need to feel amazed right now. And I need to feel like I still have a creative outlet while not adding something stressful to my plate.

So I’m keeping it lighthearted over at Lightning Flash, aiming to write a short piece every work day, just to flex the muscles. I’m also conducting a more extensive study of the craft of flash, and reading flash written by others, and hope to share inspiration accordingly.

I previously wrote about how I was finally making a living as a writer, but I used it as more of a “Farewell, 2020” post than a substantial update about the state of my own life. But honestly, sometimes all I need to say is: I’m making a living as a writer.

What? I still can’t believe it.

After a long creative dry spell from about May to… December? Mid-January? I figured my priorities had changed. I used to have a dream of being a writer. Like a published writer. And yes, I’ve published a nonfiction book, but my goal has always been to publish a volume of creative work. Or hell, at this point, just to publish creative work in journals and magazines. I used to submit stories from creative writing workshops fairly regularly, but that’s been ten years ago. More, maybe. I’d have to dust off the spreadsheet to double-check.

Anyway, I spent the first month or two of lockdown attending all of the author events I could. I wrote a lot of poetry because I was feeling a lot of emotions. But I never looked at them again. I didn’t edit them or revise them, and I certainly didn’t try to submit them.

I attempted National Novel Writing Month and “won,” technically, but the story is not complete, and it’s not something I want to go back to right now.

Besides that, nothing. I tried to find creative outlets in other paper-centric hobbies, like quilling and book-making, but they didn’t have the same allure as my phone, with news sites constantly being updated and Twitter refreshing every few seconds.

I’m not blaming my lack of progress on the news, though I don’t think it’d be a reach to do so. It was more that I was writing for my “day job,” and while it wasn’t creative writing, it was still words, and it still fulfills me. Add into the mix my new position of becoming an Assistant Managing Editor of Split/Lip Press and I felt pretty damn good. I was writing words and helping promote and publish others. What’s not to love?

So that’s when I figured my priorities had shifted. I didn’t feel the need to publish because I was helping others do the work. And, let’s be honest, all of their stuff blows me away. I’d rather use my skills in a way that will help people, so my jobs right now feel purposeful instead of frivolous.

It’s important for me to be transparent and admit that this revelation about shifting my priorities came, oh… about a week ago? Which is especially interesting, because now… stay tuned.

I know tomorrow is another day, but I’m the type of person who likes the idea of a new year being a fresh start. I think this year we’re all feeling that way, and I also think that by December 31st we’re all sick of people rolling their eyes and wishing 2020 away. Because we’re all living the same thing, even if half (or more?) of the population is in total denial of it. Nothing will change tomorrow, but it feels like a (slightly) brighter start. The light at the end of the tunnel is growing brighter.

This year has been hard for a lot of people. And it’s been devastating for a lot of people. And some people weren’t really affected by anything. I have to check my privilege here, because this year was not terrible for me. I don’t want to push toxic positivity and sound like everything works out in the end, but… it did? For me? This year? And I’m so grateful.

Again, coming from a place of privilege.

I didn’t lose my job when the pandemic hit. I was able to work from home. Once I realized the situation wasn’t sustainable, I was able to search for another job. I was able to pivot and, thanks to my education and previous experience, I am back doing what I’ve always wanted to do. What I used to do, except now, it’s better. All that hard work I put in years ago, barely getting by, paid off. I’m writing for a living and making good money doing so. It’s… mind-boggling, honestly.

^ That. Completely. I have tough days but even when things seem hard, I recline back (because I am working from home in my cushy desk chair) and realize that I still have it so good. I wouldn’t trade this for the world.

I also keep thinking about something I read regarding “don’t quit your day job,” when someone argued that point by saying if you have a day job, you’re not going to take risks to make it on your own. And that has been true for me for over a decade, since I was just a kid (ha) in college with big dreams. So in some sick way, I’m kind of grateful that this year pushed me to my breaking point so I could start rebuilding it all the way I want it to be.